


Heated Moment

by Korpikaazi



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Headcanon, Hot Norwegian, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Shameless Smut, Sloppy Makeouts, Sweat, so close and yet so far, yummy kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 15:15:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8406682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Korpikaazi/pseuds/Korpikaazi
Summary: Skwisgaar is distracted by a rather delicious Norwegian playing in the heat of Mexico. Plotless oneshot!





	

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at writing a bit of smut, so any constructive criticism would be welcome! This was inspired by two bits of fanart that I've found in my interwebs travels, but for the life of me I can't remember who they're by, nor can I find them again! So it's just from fond memories... ;) Hope you enjoy!

Skwisgaar stepped back as Nathan rambled to the audience, wiping his hands on his jeans. Sweat dripped down the sides of his face, down his back, down his arms. Odin take it, why did they have to be playing in Mexico in the Summer? Even though the Sun had gone down, the hot air was humid, sticky and deeply unpleasant to Skwisgaar’s Scandinavian body. The lights beaming down on him weren’t helping his sweaty situation. He’d even switched from drinking beer to drinking water, feeling the threat of dehydration pulling at the edges of his brain.

As Nathan stepped aside to let Murderface get his dick out and start his solo, Skwisgaar averted his gaze, looking over the stage to see how Toki was faring in the heat. Lillehammer tended to be even colder than Stockholm, so his Norwegian counterpart was even less built for this dreadful weather. True to his expectations, Toki looked even worse than he did; his shirt was sticking to him, strands of hair plastered to his face and neck. As he watched, Toki snatched a bottle of water from their stash near Pickles’s drum kit and downed the whole thing in one go. Skwisgaar’s gaze turned lecherous as he watched Toki’s Adam’s apple bob up and down, the sight raising his temperature another notch or two. He couldn’t wait for this show to be over.

After what seemed like a lifetime, Murderface’s solo wrapped up and Skwisgaar sighed in relief. Two more songs; then the set change, solo, encore, done. He pulled his hair over one shoulder, hoping to get some more air to his neck. As he did so, he heard a universal roar from the women – and several of the men – in the audience. His brow crinkled in confusion: that sound was normally reserved for him when he put on his best ‘come hither’ eyes and broke into a solo. But here he was, sweaty and disgusting at the back of the stage. So who were the screams for?

It didn’t take him long to find out.

Standing at the front of the stage, seemingly oblivious to the lustful screams directed towards him, stood Toki, looking powerful and dangerous. It seemed that the heat had finally got the better of the Norwegian, and during Murderface’s solo, he had taken the liberty of removing his shirt. Now the audience – and Skwisgaar – were being treated to the sight of Toki’s muscled, tanned body. Transfixed, the Swede stared at Toki’s back as he broke into the first chords of Face Fisted. The giant fans that had been set up at the front of the stage in a futile attempt to keep the band cool lifted the long, straight hair off of Toki’s shoulders as he played. A thousand cameras flashed as Toki’s strong biceps tensed their way through the fast, heavy playing of the song. As Skwisgaar watched, the lighting caused the whitened scars that criss-crossed Toki’s back to glow ethereally over his strong back muscles. Scars that Skwisgaar had traced with his fingers; scars that he had kissed, licked and loved over and over. Scars that Skwisgaar knew were as much laid over Toki’s heart as they were over his skin.

Skwisgaar had heard himself called a god many times before, but seeing Toki standing before him, hair whipping about as he powered through the chords, he couldn’t help but think that the term was more applicable to his Norwegian counterpart.

“Skwisgaar! Wake teh feck up!”

Pickles’s strained voice yelling at him from the drums woke the Swede out of his staring. He realised that he was not even playing his guitar, too entranced by the stunning sight before him. Shaking himself mentally and physically, he forced his fingers to play his guitar, glad that muscle memory allowed his mind to focus on the delicious sight of Toki windmilling away as he played.

Skwisgaar couldn’t remember a time he’d been so glad to see the lights go down on the stage, signalling the set change. Without acknowledging any of his bandmates, he strode backstage, depositing his guitar wordlessly to a passing Gear. He stood by the side of the curtain, watching the rest of the group walk past.

Nathan. Murderface. Pickles.

Toki.

As the brunet walked past, Skwisgaar reached out a thin arm and grabbed Toki’s thicker wrist. The Norwegian gasped, his eyes wide with fear before he realised who it was that had grabbed him. That fear quickly turned to lust as he noticed the way that Skwisgaar was looking at him.

“Gods _dammit_ , Toki,” Skwisgaar growled, staring down at Toki. He walked the shorter man backwards until his back was pressed up against a row of cases that held Dethklok’s equipment. “From nows on, de only persons allowed to sees a show like that froms yous ams me.”

With that, Skwisgaar crushed his lips against Toki’s, melding his thin body against the younger man’s muscular one. Skwisgaar heard Toki let out a groan as he pushed his tongue past his lips, lustfully exploring his mouth. Toki’s hands reached up to Skwisgaar’s long hair, tangling in the golden locks and tugging slightly as he reciprocated the heated kiss.

Skwisgaar ran his hands down Toki’s chiselled front, before grabbing his hips and pressing them against his own. Their sweat slicked bodies rubbed against each other, heated moans mingling with their urgent kiss. Skwisgaar felt triumph mingled with lust as he devoured his Norwegian god. _All of you out there, screaming for this – he’s mine. I get this, all of this. Toki is mine._

Skwisgaar felt Toki grind his body up against his own as they broke their kiss to pant for air. Toki’s icy eyes were completely lust blown, fat pupils staring at Skwisgaar as he bit at his swollen bottom lip. The sight was almost too much for Skwisgaar, who grabbed that lip with his own teeth, feeling the hardness in Toki’s jeans pressing up against his own. He could hear himself making obscene noises, but he found he didn’t care.

Just as Toki’s hands began to snake up Skwisgaar’s sweat drenched vest, a voice startled them from their passionate kiss.

“Doods, mebbe this is bettah than you spending the break arguing ovah solos, but yer gonna fuck up yer make up if you carry on that whey!”

Skwisgaar dropped his head as the familiar Wisconsin accent broke the mood. At least Pickles didn’t seem particularly perturbed by what he’d seen – the Swede hoped he was too hammered to be able to remember it the next day and spill the beans to the rest of the band.

Hearing Pickles stumble his way back to the stage for the next part of the show, Skwisgaar reluctantly pulled himself away from Toki, who was still breathing hard. Pickles had a point: their desperate kissing and face holding had left their corpse paint severely smudged. Skwisgaar found he didn’t care – the god before him had always been a fucked up sort of god, and now the make up simply matched it.

“Guess we betters gets back onsto stage…” Toki murmured reluctantly. Skwisgaar nodded, giving Toki one last peck on the lips.

“You waits until we gets back to de hotel,” Skwisgaar rumbled. “You won’ts be ables to move fors a week.”

The way Toki licked his lips at this statement before leaving to head back on stage sent Skwisgaar’s blood pressure through the roof. It really had been too long.

Maybe he’d even cut his solo short tonight.


End file.
